John the babtist

John the Baptist,

Was coming out of a shop
In Roma,
I knew it was him,
Long hair and trimmed beard,
he wore an Armani suit an
a white silk scar slung around his neck.
Scintillating angle wings quivered
in warm anticipation,
will he gaze at them?
No, he had loftier things
in mind, he wasn’t going to
get seduced by beauty yet again,
hailed a taxi:
“To the Vatican,” they heard
him say, “I have an audience
with the pope.”